Part 22 (2/2)

*I was looking after the little baby,' Christine said.

Flynn stopped. *But, Christine, he's not well, you have to be very careful.'

*I was.' He reached tentatively out, but Christine held the bundle close.

*The baby was sick . . .' she said, the smile edging back onto her face as she looked down into the blankets.

*But, Christine, if you could just let me . . .'

I put a hand on Flynn's arm. *Excuse me, Father, but b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.' I stepped up to Christine and wrenched the bundle from her grasp.

She let out a wail.

I unwrapped.

Little Stevie, cool, calm, collected, smiled up. I smiled back. I let out a sigh of relief. His brow felt normal. His skin was pink, a little flushed, but the rash had faded. No, not faded. Gone. Gone completely, as if it had never been there.

Flynn turned from consoling Christine. He peered over my shoulder. *Is he dead?' he asked matter-of-factly.

*Dead good,' I said.

The priest's jaw dropped as he saw the extent of the transformation. *My goodness,' he said.

*Aye,' I said.

He looked a little closer. *But he's . . .'

*Aye.'

He shook his head. *It's a miracle,' he said.

*Mirkle,' I said.

He grabbed my arm suddenly. *No. I mean it. It is. It's a miracle.'

*Father, I . . .'

*It is. It's a miracle! Christine's done another-'

*Father, the baby's better. It happens. It's not a m-'

*Dan, you don't understand,' he said excitedly. *It is a miracle!' He grabbed my shoulders. *Moira told me herself last night she didn't expect him to last the course. She was absolutely certain he had meningitis . . . thought he was a goner for sure. But now he's . . . it's wonderful!'

I shrugged him off. Little Stevie gurgled. *Okay. If you insist. It's a miracle.'

A broad grin split the priest's face. He threw his hands up in the air. Caught them, too. *A miracle!' he shouted. *Thank G.o.d!' He turned to Christine. He tousled her hair. She slipped off the bath, pulled at her nightdress where it was stuck damp to her legs. He knelt beside her. *What did you do to make the baby well, Christine?'

She ran the back of a hand across her face to remove the tears. Sniffed something back up her nose. *I took him out of the room, Father.'

*And why did you do that?'

She bit at a finger. Twisted her head left and right. *Because,' she said.

*You knew the baby was sick, didn't you? A very sick baby.'

She nodded.

*Then you brought him out here? What did you do?'

*Nothing. I sat on the bath.'

*What did you say to the baby?'

She shook her head.

*You said nothing at all?'

*I sang a song, Father.'

*What song did you sing, Christine? Was it a good song?'

She nodded. *”Jesus Loves You”.'

Flynn gulped. It was a loud gulp. As loud a gulp as you're likely to hear this side of Gulpville, Indiana. When he turned back to me his eyes had filled with tears.

*It's a miracle!' he cried.

I nodded and turned for the house. It was time to bring the tidings of great joy to my wife.

23.

Dr Finlay arrived at Snow Cottage a little after noon. For the purposes of the day it might as well have been called Fog Cottage. Or the Wrathlin Convention Centre. The previous three hours had been spent entertaining with steadily diminis.h.i.+ng goodwill members of Flynn's congregation anxious to hear at first hand the miracle of the baby brought back from death's door by the infant Messiah.

Uhuh.

Patricia seemed to enjoy the attention.

*Out shooting,' was the doctor's explanation for his unavailability.

*We looked everywhere,' I said.

*Not everywhere,' he said.

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